


Third Face of a Coin

by Jenalop3



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, Kids adapt but adults..., Let's D&D this shit up, kinda sorta, the Upside Down ain't the only one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 18:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18184325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenalop3/pseuds/Jenalop3
Summary: “Do you think there are other Upside Downs? Like other worlds?”El knows she needs to be careful if she comes across anything from a different world. She knows not to touch, not to bring attention to herself. The Demogorgon’s vile head rears in her imagination, petals unfurling to show a maw filled with so many teeth, too many teeth. Gnawing and gnashing teeth searching for soft flesh.She would not make that same mistake again.





	1. Going to the Void

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my Dropbox for months, might as well let it see the light of day. It's unfinished but who knows, maybe season three will give me a good kick.

 

Winters in Indiana weren't the kindest of things. Sure they weren't exactly famous for them, let's leave that to the Canadians and Russians, but being runners up in the coldest and longest categories had to account for something.

 

Snow hadn't quite covered Hawkins in its white embrace. Scrubby yellow grass managed to poke through thin sheets of ice. Yards stood barren in the frost, there wasn't enough snow to entice Hawkins’ young ones out to play. The steel gray cold stole the breath from lungs, scarves were pulled high over noses and mouths and thick coats buttoned tight. Few folks dared to brave the cold, scuttling from warm car to warm home, chimnies puffed and furnaces chugged over time.

 

With winter in full swing and Jack Frost practically gnawing at your nose the Byers home was mercifully warm and cozy, the furnace a dull background chug throughout the house. Ms. Byers puttered around the kitchen, her faint footsteps and the clang of pots and pans hypnotic and domestic and wonderfully exotic to El. The home smelled of clean linen and faint cigarette smoke, she liked the smell. All the good people seemed to smoke, even if Mike’s nose curled at the scent, she liked it. It wasn't clean or sterile, it didn't have the chemical tang of bleach to it. It was acrid and deep and maybe a bit dirty, and she liked it.

 

El yawned and stretched lazily, Will’s bed far too cozy for its own good. She wasn't the only one barely keeping sleep away, the day was far too frigid to do much of anything besides lounge like the fat seals she had seen on the TV.

 

She, Mike and Dustin had arrived in the early afternoon. El hand clung tight to Mike’s back digging her nose into the warmth of the collar of his coat. They had every intention to dump their bikes, gather the remaining three in their party and go out into the wide yard and roughhouse in the snow, but inside was so warm, and Johnathan had made cookies the night before and before they knew it their boots and coats had been kicked off and they had found themselves warm in Will’s room “Shooting the shit” as Hopper says.

 

“What would you do if you found a dinosaur?” Dustin asked from his spot half under the bed.

 

His question takes El by surprise, she pops up from where she was sprawled on her stomach, Mike’s head resting warmly at the small of her back, her fingers gently twisting Max’s long hair into sloppy unpracticed braids, and shot him an alarmed look. She knew what dinosaurs were, she also knew Dustin had a penchant for taking in dangerous strays, à la Dart. She couldn't help but imagine Dustin hiding a toothy prehistoric lizard in his garage.

 

“I think it would depend on what kind?” Will answered, on his back arms raised in the air trailing the patterns on his ceiling. “If it was a tyrannosaurus or an allosaurus, I’d run away faster than the Road Runner. If it was something too big to really care about me, then it would be neat to observe it.”

 

A lazy chorus of agreements rang through the Party, and El realized that it wasn't a real question,Dustin wasn't asking for their help in the sort of roundabout way he was fond of. Her nerves eased and she focused back on Max’s braid.

 

“Yeah, but a brontosaurus or iguanodon ain't as cool as a T-Rex.” Max pipped up, last weeks issue of “Boy’s Life” folded open to an article illustrated with bright pictures of fish.

 

“No, but out of all the dinosaurs, if they were around today we’d be more likely to domesticate the boring ones, so they would probably be safer to be around,” Will argued back, his arms falling back to rest on his narrow chest.

 

Max’s shrugs, but it's Lucas who takes up her case. “Well, lion’s are cooler than cows, and cows are domesticated.”

 

Will scoffs “Are “‘arnivores cooler than herbivores' wasn't Dustin’s question though. He asked what would you do, and if I was faced with a carnivore, I'd run and hide, but a herbivore I might not. It all depends on if it want to eat me or not.”

 

They quiet again before Mike picks his head up and asks a question of his own. “Ok, I got one. So, if Mickey and Minnie are mice, and Donald and Daisy are ducks, and Pluto is a dog, what the hell is Goofy?”

 

They’re quiet, puzzling over the truly baffling question Mike has posted.

 

“Goofy’s a dog?” El asked twisting to look at Mike over her shoulder.

 

“But if Goofy can walk and talk, why can't Pluto?”

 

Well, that stumped El, why couldn't Pluto talk?

 

“Shit your right, what the hell is Goofy,” Dustin said his eyes wide.

 

They carried on like that for the remainder of the afternoon, taking turns to pose and ponder the philosophical questions of thirteen-year-olds. El lets their voices and the chug of far off appliances wash over her. She was warm, soft and safe, eyelids becoming heavy and her breathing evening out. Sleep was just about to claim her when THE question was asked. The one that would snap her out of her sleepy state and keep her up all night and for many nights to come.

 

“Do you think there are other Upside Downs? Like other worlds?”

 

El didn't hear the others answer through the sudden rush of blood through her ears. Was there more than one? She had never considered, she had no reason to think, but at the same time, nothing she knew said there couldn't be. There were so many questions, so many “what ifs”. If there were other dimensions, what were they like? How dangerous were they? Did the other dimensions know about hers? Would traveling in the Void alert them as it did with the Upside Down? Or where they blissfully ignorant like the townspeople of Hawkins?

 

Her mind ran like a rat in a wheel for the rest of the day, until six rolled around and Hopper came by in his Bronco to pick her up and take her home. She was quiet all through dinner as she and Hopper sat at their little table take out boxes spread between them.

 

She was so lost in thought that even Hopper took notice.

 

“You doing alright Kid?” He asked through a large mouthful of lo-mein. “You haven't even touched the crab rangoon.”

 

She hadn't.

 

It was her favorite.

 

El tucked a shoulder and reached out to spear one of the golden fried little packages of goodness on the end of her fork.

 

“Thinking.” She says quietly and stuffed the whole wonton into her mouth, crispy buttery crust breaking under her teeth spilling the gooey cream cheese, crab, and onion concoction onto her tongue. Normally her jaw would ache with the pleasure of the exotic taste, but today she just couldn't focus on the flood of flavors.

 

“What about?” he asked rolling the liquid in his beer can before taking a swig. His eyes under his heavy brows where pinned on her, kind and patient. Things have been good recently, they’ve been open and honest with each other, expressing affection freely, if clumsily. El gets to go out to see her friends, she is learning and experiencing more than she had ever had before.

 

She doesn't want to ruin this, she doesn't want to go back to before.

 

“Is it about Mike?” Hopper leans in close waggling his eyebrows.

 

El felt her face heat up, she's not sure why it does that, but Hopper seems to revel in it. She ducks her head and stuffs another wanton into her mouth. She feels a bit guilty for letting Hopper believe what he wants, it's not exactly a lie, Mike isn't far from her mind, and what she wants to do might affect him. It might affect all of them.

 

Or nothing will happen.

 

But the curiosity was killing her and she just had to see.

 

Hopper chuckles fondly, reaching across the small table to ruffle her fluffy hair.

 

“Come on, Kid, help me clean up, Jeopardy will be on soon.”

 

El nods her head vigorously and pops up to dump empty containers into the trash. The sooner they can get through their nightly routine the sooner she can get to bed. She sits through Jeopardy soaking up the trivia, then flicks her chin at the TV setting it to the evening news. Hopper pulls out a worn set of cards from a caddy and deals them out onto the coffee table. They play a few hands of poker and blackjack, Hopper says it's to help with her math skills, but El thinks he doesn't know any other card games.

 

When eleven o’clock rolled around, El started to exaggerate her yawns and curls closer to Hopper's side. She could feel him soften as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling the cards from her fingers.

 

“Alright, Kid, time to call it a night, eh?”

 

She nodded sleepily, knuckling the corner of her eye. Really hamming up the fatigue.

 

“Go brush your teeth, gotta start getting into the habit of getting to bed early if you're going to start school,” Hopper said fondly, ruffling her hair and sending her off to the small pocket bathroom before she said goodnight and closed her bedroom door.

 

She feels like a thief in her own home, going about the motions of slipping on her PJs and turning down her bed. She opens her book, “Little Women”, but makes no effort to read the words. Instead, she strains her ears listening as Hopper settles back into the swayback couch with a creak and a groan. El waited as the clock ticked and ticked, after twenty minutes she flicked her chin towards her lamp causing the pull chain to twitch and the lights go black. She lays in the darkness waiting until finally, she hears the tell-tale click of the TV and the squeal of Hopper’s bed springs.

 

Waiting until she was positive Hopper had fallen asleep, El rolled into a sitting position and drew her blindfold from under her pillow and tied it over her eyes. With the darkness of the room, she really didn't need the blindfold, but the motions put her into the mindset she is looking for.

 

It takes a bit longer than it normal, she dared not turn on the static of her radio,but soon she was opening her eyes to an expanse of dark and shallow water.

 

The Void.

 

El takes a moment to gather herself, twisting the hem of her too large t-shirt between her fingers. The Void is intimidating and comforting all at once. The neverending blackness could eat her alive, whether or not something was lurking in that blackness she couldn't know.

 

But then it was a source of comfort for the longest time. When she couldn't leave the cabin she could go into the void and see everybody; Lucas and Dustin and Mike. She could shadow them throughout the day and spending time in science with the boys, or watching Ms. Byers at the teller or sitting on Hopper's desk was a far cry better than the lonely cabin.

 

Shaking off her nerves, El figured she would do her rounds. Ease her way into the Void. First, she searched out Hopper. It was easy, he was just barely thirty feet away, asleep, shirtless, on his stomach with the sheets already twisted and kicked to the side. His mouth hung open and his deep croaking snores were loud enough to be heard both here in the Void and back in their cabin. She passed her hand through the fog of his hair, the motion fond and comforting even if she couldn't feel anything.

 

She sought out each of her friends next, most were sleeping, curled safely in bed. Dustin, she found was plopped in front of his television, Atari controller in hand and the strange pinging music from the game floated low through the TV. When she reached out for Nancy she found herself before Johnathan’s car, the windows fogged over. She could see dark shapes moving within the cab and soft strange little noises could be heard that sent weird feeling up and down her spine. That silly flush was back and she readily let them go, she wasn't sure exactly what they were up to, but she was reasonably positive it had to do with kissing, and Hopper, Joyce, and Mike agreed that that type of kissing was a private thing.

 

Instead, she sought out Mike and parts of his room soon swam into view. A gooseneck lamp was contorted through the wide slats of his bunk bed to shine warm yellow light on the pages of the book he was reading. Nestled in pillows and blankets, Mike looked soft and the epitome of safe and welcoming. She leaned against the leg of the bunk sliding to sit on the corner of his mattress. El craned her neck to read the text over his shoulder her fingers reaching out to pet his incorporeal hair. It fluttered through her fingers like steam, she could feel the warmth of him, the slight brush of something clinging to her skin like condensation. It wasn't nearly as nice as the real thing.

 

Mike paused, his book dropping to rest on his chest. He cocked his head and El thought he looked a bit like one of the rabbits that lived around the cabin. She reached out and poked his nose, her finger ghosting through. Mike’s eyes closed and he wrinkled his nose, an amused little grin played across his wide mouth. Sinking back into his pillows he picked the book up and lingered longer on each page.

 

She wanted nothing more than to stay perched on the edge of his bed, reading over his shoulder until one or both of them fall into sweet slumber. Not tonight, El reminded herself, she had a mission to do.

 

El said her goodbye to Mike and finally started off for what she had truly come here for.

 

Stepping carefully through the dark terrain, her footsteps echoed with a soft splish-splash. She trained her eyes for any sort of change on the horizon, be it hulking beast or benign creature. Gently she reached out a one-sided game of Marco Polo, where El hoped beyond hope there was no one playing Polo.

 

She knows she needs to be careful. She knows not to touch, not to bring attention to herself. The Demogorgon’s vile head rears in her imagination, petals unfurling to show a maw filled with so many teeth, too many teeth. Gnawing and gnashing teeth searching for soft flesh. The Mindflayer’s shadow loomed before a backdrop of blood red, it's dark writhing limbs reaching, malice dripping from every pore of the thing.

 

She would not make that same mistakes again.

 


	2. The Acolyte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Acolyte meets his Deity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate chapters dedicated to OC’s, that being said I had to do a chapter devoted to one to make this work, promise it won't happen again!

The Acolyte scrubbed his hands together, the threadbare gloves doing little to warm his stiff fingers. He leaned over his fire pit and scrambled the coals before throwing another log into revived flames. His campsite was cold, the icy frozen earth leached any sort of warmth away from his bedroll and the matted furs he had piled up. He wondered if he should take a swig from the bottle tucked close to his skin, he was running low and he didn't want to leave his campsite to travel half a day to the nearest village to resupply.

Then again he was of no use if he was frozen solid.

Grinding his teeth he tilted his head to gaze up at the figure before him. The blank marble white eyes gazed back cold and unfeeling, stone brows pulled down in a furrow, the effigy of his Fearsome God was a truly frightening sight. 

”I will not abandon you.”

The Acolytes grunted through his frozen jaw, breath fogging above his head.

He pulled the bottle from under his layers, slid the stopper and took a quick swig. Immediately warmth bloomed from his throat, traveling through his blood to reach his extremities. It was like swallowing an autumn sun, the rays warm enough to make you sweat but the chill’s teeth not far from its heels. The Acolyte swished the bottle, the liquid moving freely in the ample space. He sighed heavily and prayed to his Fearsome God that the call he was waiting for would happen soon.

He had thought he was going insane when he first felt the tickle of a presence, alone in his closet of a room meditating over his devotionals, mind finding that far off Black Realm were the planes of existence were thin and the thoughts of god's and men could meet. He had never seen anything, of course, rare few could make contact, most just traveled that Black Realm alone but for the sounds of their footsteps in the shallow water. So the soft whisper of butterfly wings along his consciousness sent him jerking into the darkness. He almost faded back to his body but he forced himself to solidify.

He whirled and searched the darkness, his eyes watering, aching with the effort to be kept open least he missed something.

Something splashed behind him. 

The Acolyte spun tripping over his robes and falling to the shallow water. The last thing he saw before opening his eyes to his room was a pair of pale feet haloed by ripples.

He had sat on his bunk in pure disbelief, did he just make contact with a god? 

He wasn't sure. How could he know? He paced up and down his small room, excitement pushing him to his feet, six paces to his door, then six paces to his bunk. He spent the rest of the day in his room his mind reeling before finally enough was enough.

”Perhaps Teacher can guide me,” he muttered pushing out into the long hall ill-fated with the waning light of the winter sun.

If anyone would know what a good looked like the Teacher would. The matchstick door stood ajar, the faint sound of scratching could be heard coming from the Teachers room. The Acolyte knocked politely and waited.

The scratching continued for a beat or two more before there was a pause and an equally scratchy voice bid him enter.

The Acolyte found the Teacher sequestered in his own cramped room. Bare bed pushed far into the corner hidden under books and sheaves of dusty yellow papers, the Teacher peered up at him from behind grimy spectacles and over the mountains of ancient books and artifacts that littered his desk. A small fat pot bellied braizer sat between his stockinged feet.

He gestured with his quill to the spindly chair.

”How can I help you, son?” the old man asked, eyes flicking between his work and his guest.

”I have a question, Sir,”

”I figured as much.”

The Acolyte nodded.

”Yes, well, this afternoon, as custom and expected, I sat in meditation, ” the Teacher nodded. ”and as I traveled the Black Realm I think I saw something.”

The Teacher stared at him, thin eyebrows pulled over pale eyes.

”And what exactly do you think you saw.”

The Acolyte sighed dragging his fingers over the rasp of stubble on his head. ”Not much, Sir, a pair of feet before I came back to my body.”

”Feet?”

”Yes, ” the Acolyte landed close, ”pale, small, like a child's, could I have seen a God?”

Teacher snorts.

”Doubtful, masters have spent their lives in study and they rarely see anything, let alone a young one such as yourself.” he laughs to himself turning back to his work, ”there are no records of any God presenting themselves as a pair of child's feet no less.” 

The Acolyte left his Teacher quarters after that.

He resigned himself to the fact that his Teacher was correct, no god in their extensive pantheon had ever revealed themselves to a mere student. 

He sulked through his chores the next day; fetching food and water for the older Brothers, scrubbing floors, cleaning windows, weeding and caring for the large kitchen garden. The same things as yesterday, as last week, as last month side beside his fellow Brothers with the same short shorn hair and dressed in the same rough spun brown habit.

His head hung as low as the sun in the west, he returned to his matchbox room and kneeled on the mat before his small shrine to the Fearsome God. Its pale eyes glared at him from its little pedestal. 

The Acolyte sighed and slipped into the Black Realm and there it was. That presence as soft as down, curious and ready to bolt. He spent his evening holding his breath and waiting for the presence to make a move. It seemed to be doing the exact same thing, waiting and watching.

The presence came again the next day, and the day after that. Each and every evening that week when he folded his legs and closed his eyes and found himself in that dark space with the presence there curious and wary and waiting. He never sought out his Teacher again, instead of looking forward to those fleeting meetings in the Black Realm. He carefully started talking to the presence, it never responded invoice, but the more he talked the closer he thought it came.

He started testing it, reciting different passages from each god’s doctrine. The Motherly God and the Loving God’s stilled it in place, the Wild God’s words piqued its interest he thought, it didn't appear when he recited from the Protector’s book. Then he talked about the Fearsome God’s doctrine and he could have sworn he felt a rush of energy like a lightning bolt had struck his forehead, the electricity flowing through his veins and sending spasms through his muscles.

It had to be his Fearsome God and no other.

Over the week he became obsessed, the Fearsome God leading him in the Black Realm. None of these monks and priest were of any use, how could they be. They couldn't teach him anything, he had the ultimate teacher. One day he asked the presence “ You came to me, oh Fearsome one, what would you have me do?”

It seemed to inch closer.

“Sacrifice?”

It scuttled back.

“No. Your books talk of your rule here on earth. Is it time, am I the one to bring you here?” He asked breathlessly. 

The presence stilled, he could feel the air vibrate with anxious energy.

“I understand.”

That night The Acolyte gathered a few belongings and some important equipment then locked each and every dormitory door and set the monastery aflame. 

He marched for three days straight, only stopping to eat, relieve himself and catch a quick rest before he came to the small mountain that hosted the oldest shrine to the Fearsome God. 

It was here that he would return his God to the world. He took out his equipment: sticks of milky white and blood red wax, twenty-three finger bones, a mix of blood from seven virgins, and one stick of chalk. He slaved over the summoning circled for days, it had to be perfect, the Fearsome God expected nothing less.

Soon his circle was complete and all that was left was to wait for his God to give him the sign to complete the summoning and bring the God home.

The Acolyte fingered that sharp obsidian dagger, the handle wrapped with a delicate silver chain, the guard carved from the tooth of a dragon. It was finely crafted and he couldn't wait to use it.


	3. Friday Night Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim Hopper muses on life after the closing of the Gate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't get too used to fast posting over here, I just wanted to get out a chapter that focuses on an actual main character. 
> 
> Plus I love Hopper.

If this was one of the story books he had read to Sarah, and then again to El, the time after closing the Gate and banishing the Mind Flayer would have been a happily ever after. Jim knew he wasn't in a book, despite a few moments of doubt, and people rarely got those elusive happy endings.

Somethings were better after the Gate was closed. There was certainly less yelling going on in his little cabin. It was lighter, brighter. Blinds up, the warm orange autumn sunlight streamed freely, sparking motes of dust on fire. Everything hadn't reset, El was still a bit of a moody teenager, but she now had an understanding she didn't have before. There had to be a give and take, she wasn't a recruit, she wasn't a subordinate, she was a thirteen-year-old little girl. So Jim swallowed his fears and trusted the Kid. There were rules of course: stay with her friends, call him when she changed location, home before six, the normal shebang.

And El bloomed. 

Sure she still preferred small concise sentences, almost forgetting there was more than just adjectives. Jim picked his battles with that behavior of hers, most days he would prod her to use proper sentences, some days it was better left to the wayside. She still kept herself small, arms tucked close with a slight hunch, her growing curls falling over her eyes, but under that flop of hair, her eyes were bright and attentive soaking up everything the world had to offer.

Just because they defeated the bad guy doesn't mean that everything would be good. 

Nightmares were a thing. For everyone. 

Joyce had called him on numerous occasions in the dead of night voice wavering but low to not wake her boys. Jim knew Johnathan and Nancy rarely stayed in their own beds for the entire night, one waking and searching out the other. Joyce had mentioned that she would periodically find one of the kids curled in a sleeping bag on Will’s floor. She even found that Harrington boy sprawled on her couch more than once. He had the same problem, often he had heard the latches and locks shifting on the front door and multiple soft footsteps would make their way to El’s room. Most of the time it was Wheeler, sometimes Henderson or Sinclair or even that red-haired girl. He knows he should shoo them away, drag them home in his Bronco before their parents could miss them.

But then he remembers Vietnam. He remembers how hard it was to sleep when he returned home. How he didn't feel safe for the longest time without his unit at his back. How he wanted to spill his guts, talk about his nightmares, but nobody really got it. Nobody was there.

He never made a stink about it. Just made sure the kid, whoever it was, was driven home before dawn.

Even Jim finds himself wandering the two blocks from the station to Melvald’s on his lunch break. It happens with such regularity that Joyce started packing two sandwiches and two diet cokes. Sometimes they’d talk, mostly about the kids or the good old days, most days they shared the quiet. As long as they didn't speak about the monsters they would be ok.

They had become reliant on each other. It made sense, they couldn't talk to anyone else, who would believe them. His adopted daughter was a former science experiment that could move shit with her mind and accidentally opened a portal to an alternate dimension filled with unfathomable monsters that wanted nothing but to rip everyone to shreds and consumed her son once and possessed him a second time.

Yeah, that would earn them a one-way ticket to the loony bin. 

So he was lenient, let the kids heal however they could. 

And apparently for Wheeler that would be gluing himself to El’s side.

Hopper was mildly surprised the two stuck to the cabin for as long as they did. Every day after work he’d come home to find, at the very least, Wheeler’s bike leaning up against the porch. He’d haul it into the back of the Bronco and be welcomed to dinner. Sometimes simple canned soup and grilled cheese or other times his kitchen erupted and a Karen Wheeler specialty sitting warm in the oven. He’d set his hands on his hips and suck his lips tight, but he couldn't find it in himself to be angry, not with El in an ill-fitting apron rocking back and forth eagerly on her heels eyes glued to the greasy window of the oven and Wheeler pouring over his mother’s recipe cards.

But with winter El seemed to become restless once again. 

His office phone rattled one day around four, the old Thanksgiving decorations fluttered as Flo leaned out the small window to call down the hallway.

“Your girl’s on the line, Hop.” Which was followed by wolf whistles from the bullpen. 

He picked up the receiver, sudden anxiety nibbling at his gut. “Kid?”

“Hi,” her voice was light and unbothered, he sighed and chided himself. 

“You ok?”

“Yeah,” the TV hummed quietly in the background.

“What’da’ya need?”

“Can I got to Will’s with Mike?”

He scrubbed a hand over his scruff. The Byers lived on the other side of town, he was swamped with paperwork and couldn't give them a lift. Maybe he could radio Powell, he was out that way on patrol.

No. There needs to be trust and independence, no matter how much his skin itched at the thought of someone out there waiting to take away El. He needed to at least pretend at normalcy.

“Hop?” She said, kicking him out of his thoughts, already sounding disappointed.

“Yeah, no, that's fine. Wear a helmet if your biking. Call me when you get there, ok?”

“Ok!”

“Not stupid, remember?” He asked his whiskers twitching with the sudden excitement he could feel over the phone.

“Not stupid.” She said through a giggle and he could just see her rolling her eyes and pushing her flop of hair out of her face.

“Good,” he wasn't sure she heard him, Wheeler’s faint voice came from the background asking what Jim had said. Wheeler whooped when El told him Jim would allow her to leave.

“Thank you,” El said hurriedly over Wheeler’s happy voice, “Bye!”

Twenty minutes later his phone rang again.

“Made it.” El chirped over the hubbub of the Byers house. It sounded to Jim that more than Will was present.

“Good, have fun. I’ll pick you up after work.”

Eventually, six-thirty rolled around, his office had dimmed and the evening shift was punching in. He stretched, his back popping like firecrackers and reached for his coat and Stetson.

He waved to the boys in the bullpen, “Hopefully it’ll be a quiet one.”

Flo’s replacement, a twenty odd-year-old woman with poodle hair and heavy eyeshadow waggled her fingers as he passed.

“Night Chief,”

“G’night Patty,”

It was Friday night, he was tired and couldn't wait to gather El, return home, shove a TV dinner into the oven, pop a beer and not move until the morning. Yet when the door to the Byers’ residence opened he found the home filled with a sea of teens and Joyce just managing to keep afloat.

“Hey Hop,” she greeted, stepping back and letting him through.

“Gotta full house,” he said as he removed his Stetson and smoothed back his hair.

The house was abuzz with activity, teens moving about the dining room ping-ponging off each other. Jonathan and Wheeler wrestling with an old table, shoving leaves into the gap in the center. Nancy loading El and the Red-Head down with mismatched plates and silverware. Will, Lucas, and Dustin pull chairs from god knows where like damn David Copperfield, while Harrington artfully folds paper napkins.

She laughed, a tad harried, “Just a bit.” She turned to gaze fondly of the odd gaggle of teens. “We were just setting up for dinner. You and El are more than welcome to join us,”

“We couldn't impose.” He said shaking his head, wringing the brim of his hat in his hands.

“Oh not at all, I made too much and we’d love to have you.”

Between Joyce’s soft smile and El’s big hopeful eyes, his choice was already made.

He hangs his coat and hat by the door and follows Joyce to the kitchen to try and make himself useful.

The dinner turns out to be better than the one he had planned, despite being elbow to elbow with Sinclair and Harrington. The shepherds’ pie was decent, no beer but the lemonade was just the perfect side of tart, and even the raucous was tolerable.

He couldn't really remember El looking so relaxed and natural squashed between Mike and the Red-Head, whose name was Max, at the Byers’ small dining table. She’s happy, there is a hint of a smile on her face, she might not be adding much to the conversation but she is actively following it.

And most surprisingly of all Jim feels good, he feels like he belongs at this table with Joyce and this army of mismatched kids. 

It quickly becomes a thing, these dinners, every Friday night after work. He sits down at the wobbly table with his elbows tucked close to his sides. The kids talk about their days, school, the plans for their next game thing. The older kids talk about futures and college and part-time jobs. Harrington managed to nab a gig a the ice cream parlor that's going to be in the new mall. The other poke fun at his uniform, Jim doesn't get this trend of embarrassing uniforms employers make their employees wear nowadays, but Harrington will make a decent paycheck for a part-time job so he rolls with the punches well enough.

“El is really starting to look like a girl her age,” Joyce said one Friday night. 

Jim had weaseled out of work early that afternoon and had arrived just in time to see Joyce slide a casserole dish full of chicken thighs swimming in a yellowish liquid into the oven. It was a recipe she had wrangled from a coworker, chicken thighs, cream of chicken soup and after it baked top it with biscuits. Never fails.

Jim pulls a grimace around the stub of his cigarette. “Yeah, and acting like it.” 

“Brooding teenager?” Joyce asked, eyebrows dancing and mischievous.

Jim sighed and scrubbed at the scruff at his cheek. 

“I have little sympathy,” she said jutting her chin in the direction of the living room where Will, El and rest were sprawled out with loose pieces of paper, folders, and dice, Wheeler spinning some tale of dragons and what not. “I've gone through one moody teenager and I'm about to go through it again.”

“Thanks,” he says flatly, “El’s been more even-tempered since… everything.” He brushed passed the Gate and the Mind Flayer, no need to dwell on that. “In the past week or so, I dunno. It's like she’s turned inward. Been real quiet at home.”

Joyce tucks her shoulder and plucks the cigarette from his fingers. “Johnathan did that around the same age. Just became brooding and quiet, he could get a bit snippy, but all in all, he wasn't a terror going through puberty.”

Jim felt his heart stutter “You think that's what it might be? Puberty?” He never got that far with Sarah, and it just never occurred to him that, like every child before her, El would grow up. 

“Probably. That's not to say it's the only thing, El’s a special girl, she has a bit more going on than the average kid, but it could be a root factor.” She took a drag from the cigarette and furrowed her brows. “Have you had the Talk with her?”

Jim felt himself blanch. Just like it never occurred to him that El's slowly steadily getting older, he never thought he would have to explain THAT to her.

Joyce hummed handing him back the cigarette which he quickly puffed. She had an annoying little smirk on her face that Jim wasn't a fan of.

“You might want to get on that sooner rather than later.” She said, “she and Mike seem to be getting pretty darn close.”

He groaned, head dropping into his hands “Don't remind me.”

“It's not that hard, you know. Embarrassing, but not hard. They're smart, she probably already has most of it figured out from TV, she just needs someone to connect some of the dots for her. That's the way it was for both Jonathan and Will.”

“You had the Talk with Will already?” He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. Will was so tiny and wide-eyed, Jim constantly forgot he was growing at the same pace as the others.

Joyce nodded and got up to check on the chicken.

Jim sighed and snubbed out the cigarette butt. Maybe he should sit her down sometime this weekend, check out a book from the library and choke down his embarrassment and be the Dad that little slip of paper says he is.


End file.
